Sherlock: The Consulting Dishwasher Repairman
by likeateddybear
Summary: Request-fic from Livejournal
1. Chapter 1

The police force really wasn't as easy to manipulate as they used to be. They would put up with a few shouts of "murder" and have a few looks, but if the caller had nothing to do with the case, they ignored the hints and tended to get fed up very quickly. There was a point where it just had to stop.

Sherlock would have been the very best detective out there if he had wanted to actually be a detective. He didn't much like being under someone's control. He called himself a consulting detective, and he tried his best to point the police in the right direction, but when he found that he had no home for lack of money, the seventh arrest was his last straw.

He tried to shove his way into the police force as a detective, but they took this as threatening with how violent, loud, and downright childish Sherlock was being about it. He was nearly arrested again.

Sherlock actually began looking in the wanted section for non-official cases. When he didn't find any, he closed his eyes and jabbed at the paper, deciding to pick whatever it landed on. Repair man? He could do that. He heaved a sigh and dialed the number.

The next day, he found himself smooth talking the man interviewing him into giving him the job.

"It seems you've been arrested... seven times." The man looked up from the paper at Sherlock with a skeptical look on his face. Sherlock put on a complete look of innocence and annoyance.

"Yes, well... I was only trying to help, you see? They didn't see it that way, obviously.. You know how the police can be. It doesn't help, I suppose, that I'm just this lanky and pale. It's discrimination."

Sherlock shook his head, looking right into the eyes of the man with his piercing gaze set on droopy-mode. The man grimaced, a hint of sympathy on his face. Sherlock could tell he'd witnessed or been a part of such discrimination before, even if Sherlock knew that wasn't what the police had been doing.

He got the job with ease. However, he was given a uniform. Sherlock glared at it as he walked to his locker, noting the hesitance of the other men in the room. It was easy to tell the last man was either a menace, or just plain scary to work with. He was fine with them keeping their distance.

He heaved another sigh, thinking of modifications he could make to his uniform without getting fired. As he shoved on a tank-top, he noted someone standing just out of view in the room.

"Yes?" Sherlock looked up, waiting. The man started and stepped forward into Sherlock's view.

"Ah, uhm... New guy, the boss says you're to be on this." The man handed Sherlock a paper report. One "John Watson" had some sort of problem with his dish washer.

Sherlock reached the address... eventually. He took his sweet time. He knocked on the door quickly and loudly, looking utterly bored.

A man with short, blond hair answered the door. He looked incredibly tired and very annoyed.

"Hello," Sherlock said, pointing to the tag on his shirt clarifying that he was the Repair Man he had called for. The man, John, looked at him in disbelief and shook his head slightly.

"Hello? Hello- I've been waiting for seven hours, you do realize? I had to skip work, I..." John sighed and moved out of the door way. "Well, come in, then."

Sherlock looked at him with interest. John had clearly been annoyed, but had tossed it aside and immediately looked completely calm and fine again.

"What's the problem with the washer, then?" Sherlock asked in a bored drawl as John led him to the kitchen. John stopped in front of the washer and shrugged, putting his hands on his hips and looking at it.

"That's why I called. I quite honestly don't know. It was working fine last night."

"Well, if you had thought to ask your brother to rinse his dishes beforehand, this might have been avoided. Or it could have been the fact that he kicked it last night in a drunken rage when he found out his… No, when he left his wife and she called merely to argue with him, but what do I know?" Sherlock muttered as he looked at the dishwasher. He opened it, almost feeling the silence in the air.

"That... Was amazing. Incredible. How did you…" John trailed off, staring at Sherlock. Sherlock stared at the dishwasher for a second, and then looked up at John.

"You think so?"

"Yes, of course! That was…" John gave a breathy chuckle, moving his hands around in a slightly comical way that made Sherlock smirk. They made eye contact and John frowned slightly. "Do people normally not say that, or... was I... Wrong in saying that, somehow?"

"No to both," Sherlock said, looking up at John with an odd expression. "What did I get wrong?" John looked at him for a second, moving around quite comically again and causing Sherlock to get rather antsy, waiting for the answer.

"Huh?"

"I had to have been off somewhere, what was it?" Sherlock nearly snapped, but held down his tone. He was on a job, and he'd rather not get fired on his first run, especially considering arrest record. He had nearly been kicked out of his flat as it was.

"Oh, ah, it was my sister." John scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. He clearly hadn't wanted to admit that Sherlock had been wrong. Sherlock looked him over for a split second. Interesting.

"Your... sister. There's ALWAYS something," Sherlock said, opening the dishwasher and getting to work. John watched silently for a minute, and the second he shifted slightly, Sherlock opened his mouth again. "Yes, water would be nice, thank you." He heard the breathy chuckle again as John went to pour a glass of water.


	2. Chapter 2

As Sherlock worked, John became more and more curious. He didn't even attempt to hold back his questions.

"How long have you been doing that?"

"Doing what?" Sherlock drawled this out, pulling the dishwasher apart.

"The… guessing thing you do," John said, leaning over Sherlock to watch what he's doing.

"It's not guessing, it's deducing. It's really quite simple, but I suppose I have to remember that you're not me."

"Okay, how long have you been doing this?" John motioned his hands to the dishwasher, making Sherlock smirk again at how comical it looked.

"Today."

"Really..? I hope you don't screw it up, then." Sherlock stopped what he was doing. He bit his lips together, staring at his hands, then stood up and faced John, practically towering over him.

"I'm sorry, would you like to do this yourself?" Of course, Sherlock knew he was joking. It was always interesting to see someone stumble, though, and he was rather bored. John smiled at him.

"No, that's okay. I hired you to do it." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, a smile slowly forming on his face. He shoved his work jacket off, revealing a tighter tank top and claiming that he was too warm. Sherlock went back to his work, still ignoring the glass of water he asked for and noting the way John looked deliberately away from him. Interesting.

"I realized I never asked your name," John said, glancing at the water. Sherlock looked up at him.

"Well, it was on my badge. I'd think you would have noticed that."

"Oh, well…" John scratched the back of his head. Sherlock screwed in the last bolt of the washing machine and stood up.

"Finished," he said. John's eyes lit up, avoiding Sherlock's gaze.

"Does it work, then?"

"Obviously."

Sherlock shoved everything into the dishwasher and pressed the start button. It ran smoothly. Better than it had ever worked before. John looked impressed, still avoiding eye-contact with Sherlock, who was watching his reactions carefully. John was nodding absentmindedly. Sherlock knew that John noticed him watching him.

He carefully picked up the glass of water, heaving out a fake sigh. It surprised John and they finally made eye contact. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"Thank you for the water, John."

"Erm... No problem, Sherlock," John replied, not seeming uncomfortable, but bothered. Sherlock smirked, as his jacket was off and the name-tag wasn't viewable. He watched John as he lifted the glass of water to his lips. John was watching the glass with a comically confused look on his face.

"Right," Sherlock put the glass down on the counter right before it touched his lips. "I'll be off, then. The bill will be in the mail." John's eyebrows furrowed.

"Aren't you going to drink that?"

"No."

"You asked me to pour it for you, the least you can do is drink it."

"I'm no longer thirsty."

"Well, I don't want to waste water," John muttered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Then drink it." They seemed to be staring each other down. John picked up the glass of water. Just as it touched his lips and started to tip, Sherlock looked away and began packing his things. John, not wanting to look foolish, chugged the water and put the glass in the sink.

"Right, well, thank you for fixing that."

"You can expect the bill within the week," Sherlock gave one of his fake smiles. Just before he walked out the door, he stopped. "And don't think I didn't know what you were doing." He then walked to the car and left, smirking the whole way.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock had a note ready to hand to his... his "boss" when he got back. Signed "John Watson" with a fantastic review and several examples as to why he found Sherlock to be the most fantastic worker, and it was such a shame that he hadn't hired Sherlock the last time he had a problem.

His boss read the paper carefully, and then smiled at Sherlock, going to pat him on the back, but stopping short and swinging his arm awkwardly. Sherlock was glad he at least had sense enough not to touch him.

The next day, as expected, he was called to the man's office.

"Mr. Holmes, it seems your client from yesterday is having issues with his dishwasher again. Unrelated issues."

"I'd hardly call him a "client" in this type of work," Sherlock stated.

"Yes, well, I obviously have to send you, from that review he gave us yesterday. Do you remember the address?" He handed Sherlock the details and sent him off.

Sherlock showed up very quickly after leaving, having sped the whole way because he was utterly bored. He knocked on the door and waited for John to open it. He didn't. Sherlock half smirked. He was sure John had expected him to be seven hours late again. Sherlock checked the door and it was locked. He quickly found the spare hidden key and went inside.

He had plenty of time to look around before John came out into the living room to see Sherlock relaxing on his couch. John stood in the doorway, the paper in his hand completely forgotten.

"Hello," Sherlock said, not looking over.

"You're... Well, you're early."

"No, I was late last time."

"Yes, well… What did you do to my machine?" Sherlock looked up.

"I didn't do anything to your machine."

"It was working fine when you left!" Sherlock sat up slowly.

"Then what makes you think _I_ had anything to do with it?" John narrowed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

"No one else touched it after you left." Sherlock stood up and stalked over to John.

"Then I must have missed something." He went right to the dish washer and opened it. "Are you always this neurotic?"

"Um... Huh?" John blinked and crossed his arms. Sherlock held in a grin. He always just looked so bloody stupid. It was actually quite endearing, in an odd way.

"You've emptied the washer into the sink. Most would have just called, not bothering."

"I'm not going to leave dirty dishes there! They would have been right in the way, anyway."

"And are you always this sociable?" John narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in confusion. "Most people wouldn't have gotten on this quickly, John. Unless you've taken some odd liking to me. Secret kink?" John began sputtering random words out as Sherlock began working on the dishwasher.

"You're- No, I just- I do get on that quickly- And you- Interesting, you know, with the deducing thing, and- unusual. I was curious..." John trailed off, believing Sherlock had stopped listening. Sherlock smirked, his face hidden in the dishwasher.

After a while of Sherlock being horribly, awkwardly quiet as he worked (from John's end, anyway), John finally became curious again.

"Why did they send you again this time? Surely they have other repairmen?"

"They got a review."

"A review? How many people could you have worked for since last night and this morning?"

"Just you," Sherlock looked up at him. "You didn't send it in? Odd." He went back to working. John's eyes lit up with realization. Sherlock paused in his work, noticing the change of the air in the room. He could tell John figured it out, and he was impressed. He had thought him completely stupid.

Now John had many pros going his way. He wasn't dull like normal people, he wasn't a complete moron, he had an adventurous side (coming back from the war, which was interesting, as people usually wanted nothing to do with danger after), and... well, honestly, he just looked like he would be so nice to hug. Sherlock winced slightly when he thought this, slightly surprised at himself.

It took Sherlock one tap to finish up. He had merely been stalling to find out more about John and his interesting character, but now he felt that he really should get out of there before John thought harder and figured out more.

Sherlock stood up and closed the machine, snapping John out of his thoughts with surprise.

"Wait, hold on," John's eyes, now. Sherlock wanted to think "comical, idiotic" and smirk, but all he could think was "sharp, bright, he'll see right through me." His face was a well-covered mask. "You're already finished? Yesterday it took you nearly an hour. You've been here maybe ten minutes."

"It was an easier problem. Loose screw." Sherlock packed his tools away. He waited to hear John mutter something along the lines of "You have a screw loose..." but it didn't happen. Pleasantly surprised, but more reason to get the hell out of there.

Sherlock reached the door and turned around, his hand on the handle and half bowing.

"That should be all; your bill will be here within the week, call when anything else goes wrong." Sherlock closed the door and hurried to his car, cursing at himself for saying "when."


	4. Chapter 4

John seemed to do nothing but surprise Sherlock. Which, of course, made him horribly interesting, which was rare. People never really interested Sherlock, only cases, mysteries, and puzzles. John's whole personality was a puzzle to Sherlock, which interested Sherlock to such a degree that... Well, he wrote a fake note to make sure his boss would send him to John's each time someone was needed.

While in John's house, Sherlock had seen several notes and papers with John's handwriting on it, including his signature.

Sherlock expected, at this point, for John to know that he had done something. From what John had been on the point of figuring out, he was sure that John knew the "mysterious note" was actually written by Sherlock himself. What he didn't expect, however, was that John would deliberately wait until Sherlock had gone home for the day, and go into his work place to speak to his boss.

Sherlock was already well into reading up on cases in the newspaper in his hardly kept up apartment while John was sitting, waiting at the front for a chance to talk to Sherlock's boss. He was just thinking about how impossible it seemed to be that this one man of repair services was so very busy when the man walked out of the office.

"Mr. Watson?" he asked, walking forward with a hand out.

"Ah, yes," John said, standing up and shaking his hand. "Mr...?"

"Henry Weston. Nice to finally meet you. Have you been having more problems with your machine?" he asked as he led them into his office. He offered John a seat and sat down behind his desk.

"Thank you. No, I've been... well, curious about Sh- Ah, Mr. Holmes."

"Ah, yes. I could tell by your note," Henry smiled at John as John grimaced and nodded. There was one thing proven. "He's our newest and had zero experience when he showed up. I'm glad he's been so much help to you!"

"So, you got a note from me. I can't recall, what did it say?"

"You were very impressed with how professional and efficiently Mr. Holmes worked, said somethin' 'bout him being a lil late, but that's expected with traffic and that you didn't really mind it. Oh, and that you'd love to 'ave him if anything else happened to happen." He gave John a nod.

"Yes, right. Can you tell me anything about Mr. Holmes himself? I'm rather-"

"Interested? I can tell." Henry winked at John. "Nothing wrong with that. I was a little iffy on hiring the guy. He looked kinda sketchy and he'd been arrested seven times. But he seems like a nice enough fellow, even if the other workers don' seem ta like him. They keep telling me that they think he's keeping a head in his locker, but that's just completely bonkers." Henry let out a booming laugh that made John jump.

"Yes, he seems like a nice enough man, thank you for telling me." John nodded and stood up.

"You'll be off, then?" Henry grinned, clearly still thinking about how interested John was with Sherlock. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes or snap at the man.

"I will. Thank you for your help." John turned back right before he left, taking a deep breath. "Oh, and my damn washer's broken again."

The next day, Sherlock showed up at work to see a self-satisfied smirk on his boss's face. He narrowed his eyes. He only had it when he was in his office, or when he happened by Sherlock.  
>This had something to do with John. He hadn't sent in another fake letter, so it was obviously not that. John called. Or stopped by. Stopped by was more likely, given the completely smug look on the man's face. His look said so many things. He approved, he was proud of himself, he "set them up together" believed it was his fault.<br>Sherlock couldn't hold in a smile as he walked up to John's door yet again. It opened before he even knocked.  
>"Hi," John simply said, and walked back into the house. Sherlock followed. The house smelled of cinnamon apple and fire, meaning candles. Not one in sight. Sherlock closed the door and walked straight to the kitchen, taking his work jacket off and putting it to the side after putting his tools on the counter.<br>John simply walked over to his usual standing spot and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter and eying Sherlock carefully.  
>"Do you have any idea the mess you leave when you're done?" John asked, genuinely curious if he was doing this on purpose just to peeve him off.<br>"Oh, I do apologize. I didn't realize you hired me as your cleaning lady," Sherlock drawled, not even bothering to look up as he messed with everything in the dishwasher.  
>"Why did you take this job, anyway?"<br>"Can't you tell? I love fixing dishwashers. I've dreamt of it since I was merely a little lad with mummy in the kitchen. My brother used to tease me about it, but I got him back by hitting him over the head six… no, seven times with a dish. Damn thing refused to break." John snickered and Sherlock grinned into the dishwasher.  
>"Speaking of seven, I hadn't realized you were a convict."<br>"I'd reply with 'I hadn't realized you were a snoop,' but it's rather clear."  
>"Why were you arrested? Knowing you, you probably had been harassing some pedestrians, right? Telling them all their secrets? I can guess that not everyone enjoys it as I do." Sherlock snorted.<br>"I was attempting to help the 'detectives' with cases. They've screwed up so many already, I hardly think I was harming anything by giving them shoves in the right direction."  
>"You got arrested for... what, trying to help?"<br>"Yes."  
>"That's just not right. I mean, you're obviously overqualified, just from what I've seen you do already! I know for a fact that if I showed up somewhere with doctors who were way off, I'd be allowed to take over.<br>"You're a doctor, then?"  
>"Don't pretend you didn't know that," John replied with a chuckle. Sherlock grinned again. John certainly was different... Interesting. He loved it.<br>"An army doctor has a lot more credit than a 'consulting detective' who doesn't want to join because it's far too much work to be able to freely do what I already do. I've still been sending them letters, each one in a different hand writing. They've obviously been taking my advice."  
>"Hm... Well, then why did you take this job?"<br>"I already said, when I was merely a pup-"  
>"No, Sherlock," John said, sliding down to sit on the floor so he'd be more at Sherlock's level. Sherlock looked at him, his eyes slightly widened with how intimate the conversation suddenly felt with John just that much closer. "Really. Why not put in the work, rather than this?"<br>"My flat. I was going to be kicked out. The owner, she adores me, but she can't have me freeloading. I couldn't find a flatmate and it would have taken much too long to actually try for a job in that area. I can hardly afford the place now, as it is."  
>"Ah. I know how that is." John sighed, looking around. "This place is always falling apart. I'm not too shocked that my washer keeps breaking."<br>"Would you... possibly want to join me in my flat, then?"  
>"Isn't that an odd question to ask someone you've just met?"<br>"People put ads in the paper all the time. It's really a nice place."  
>"I'll think about it."<br>They looked at each other for a couple of seconds before Sherlock went back to working on the washer. John stood up, rubbing at his shoulder, and began making some tea for the both of them.  
>When the tea was ready, Sherlock was finished, but not at all in a rush to head out the door.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

They sat uncomfortably in John's tiny living room talking and drinking. It was mostly trivial things, but Sherlock was so interested in John's answers that he didn't mind the odd, usually dull topics of "every day, normal discussion."

"Would you like to see the flat as part of your thinking it over?" Sherlock suggested, finishing his tea.

"I might consider it," John replied with a small smirk on his goofy face. So endearingly goofy.

Sherlock stood up with a smile.

"Good." He took John's cup and brought it to the dishwasher as John followed behind him, muttering something about how Sherlock was a guest- well, sort of a guest- that he shouldn't be taking care of this- though, the dishwasher WAS kind of his area right now, even if it's not running around killing people and making life interesting.

Sherlock laughed and shook his head as he closed the dishwasher and packed his tools away.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't stop packing as he took a quick glance up at John.

"I… Well, I've had a thought." Sherlock paused. He'd seen this coming. He pushed his tools to the side and stood up completely.

"And what is that?"

"As much of a shit-hole this place is, there's very little chance that the dishwasher would be broken the day after being fixed. Again and again. And there is ZERO chance of it still being broken after YOU fixed it. Again… and again."

"Coincidences," Sherlock said, stepping towards John like a predator, "They can happen at any moment. What are you trying to say?" John hadn't backed away. It could have been because his back was to the wall already, since he had been leaning against it, but Sherlock knew better. John didn't even look like he WANTED to move away. What a clown. Sherlock's eyes shone with danger. Danger that John saw right through.

"I know for a fact you've been screwing up my dishwasher, Sherlock. I found out what was wrong with it last night after you left, yet you still spent a good hour on one little wobbly corner of the inner workings. I could have fixed it by punching it, really."

"Then why didn't you, John? Save the trouble and the money you quite obviously need."

"To prove a point."

Sherlock was very close, trying to look as threatening as he could. John apparently knew better, however, as he was smirking up at Sherlock, not caring how close they were.

"And, so, I'd like to quote a brilliant man I've recently met in saying… 'Don't think I don't know what you're doing.'"

With that and a smirk, eyes shining, the observant repairman's lips smashed into the sly doctor's.


	6. Chapter 6

Not surprisingly, John amazed and confused Sherlock again. He shoved at Sherlock. Even if Sherlock didn't move, it did shock him enough to stop kissing John and narrow his eyes at him. John had kissed back. He felt it.

"Sh-Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing!" John was still struggling to somehow escape, but Sherlock's hands were on either side of him and he was right up against him, so there was no way out.

"I thought you had said you KNEW what I was doing," Sherlock replied, raising an annoyed eyebrow. He just wanted to ravish him. Was that so horrible?

"Well, yes, I... I know, but I didn't realize you'd actually DO anything!" John looked exasperated, but he had at least given up trying to escape. Sherlock gave him a quick look over and a scoffed laugh escaped from his lips as his fingers traced circles in the sides of John's jumper. John ignored it, tilting his head with that comical, annoyed "What?" expression Sherlock loved so much.

"You think you're straight, don't you?"

"I know I am, thank you very much," John scoffed.

"You're not," Sherlock said into John's ear in a very low voice that was laced with laughter.

"I think I'd know that better than you. Really, now!"

"John. I know you're not." John's breathing was unsteady, his heart beating loudly, his ears turning redder by the second. His body was radiating heat, and most of it was coming from a particularly hard area down south.

"Oh?" John shoved at him again, annoyed with slightly pink cheeks and his very red ears. "And how exactly do you KNOW?" Sherlock smirked and continued muttering into John's ear and tracing his fingers, really trying to find some spot that would make John's knees give, and make his argument completely fold.

"Well, for one, you're clearly acting as one who is attempting to cover himself up. And, well... John, I'm completely pushed up against you. I can certainly tell, and it's not really something someone can unlearn or unfeel, now, is it?" He could feel him through their clothing. The hot line of his cock right up against Sherlock's was tempting him as he'd really never been tempted before. Sherlock was just glad that he could still think perfectly clearly in arousing situations.

"Well- I... The situation-" John was stammering and the longer Sherlock watched him stammer, the brighter red his ears became. It was actually quite alarming. Next thing they knew, his ears would be completely on fire. Sherlock leaned forward suddenly, shoving John's head to the side slightly so his neck was exposed.

"Just give in," he breathed into John's ear. He nipped at it softly. He couldn't hold in his self-satisfied smirk when John shivered. Sherlock took that as a sign to continue. Not that he could hold himself back. Not that he even wanted to. He slipped his hands down John's sides, pushing with his fingertips when he reached John's hips. John tensed up.

"Sherlock, I'm serious."

"You sure?" Sherlock breathed out again, licking John's neck with just the tip of his tongue. John's breathing hitched, his heart pounding loudly.

"Y-yes, I... I... Of course, I mean..." He wasn't pushing Sherlock away; he wasn't shoving his face… nothing. He was just verbally protesting.

"You don't sound sure, John." Sherlock moved his head back to look John in the eyes. John almost gasped at how blue he had never realized they were. Neither looked away. The air was tense and filled with waiting. Waiting for _someone_ to do _something_. John was telling himself he didn't want this, but he was waiting and waiting for Sherlock to move. Sherlock was waiting for John to say something else that he could disprove. He needed to convince him.

But John surprised Sherlock yet again.

"Fuck it," John breathed out in a deep, hardly audible husk. He finally used his real strength and shoved Sherlock off of him. Sherlock stumbled back, shocked completely. John gave him an odd glare and then smirked while backing him into the dishwasher. Sherlock bumped into it slightly and John was nearly right there when Sherlock realized what was happening.

His eyes shone with excitement and glee for a split second before he grinned with his eyes slightly narrowed and spun around, grabbing John and shoving him into the machine, lifting him slightly. John banged into it, ignoring the pain in his back from the counter as Sherlock kissed him fiercely. They broke apart a split second after, however, when they heard a loud clang come from the washer.

They both looked down at it, breathing heavily but successfully distracted.

"You screwed it up again, didn't you?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock with a small trace of a disbelieving smile. The playful lust came back to Sherlock's expression and he leaned down, brushing his lips slightly on John's, then kissing more fiercely, nipping at his lip, darting his tongue out, and successfully getting John to open his mouth.

As their tongues tangled together in some sort of battle for dominance, Sherlock's hands snuck under John's jumper. Skin on skin. Skillful, long-fingered hands pressing in John's skin at just the right places, causing him to gasp and lose the fight completely.

Sherlock pulled John's jumper up, trailing his long fingers up John's back, making him shudder, and broke the kiss long enough to pull it off completely. John leaned forward before Sherlock got a chance to go back to kissing him.

He slid his hands under Sherlock's shirt, pulling it off quickly, his eyes drinking up the scene. Sherlock's pale, warm skin under his fingers, now his hands, now being pulled against him and- Wait, he's doing this. Sherlock isn't shoving John into the dishwasher he's spent so much time fixing and breaking. John's pulling Sherlock tight against him, needing him close, tight against him. Sherlock's merely complying with enthusiasm.

As soon as John realized this, however, he seemed to start thinking. And of course Sherlock noticed this. And of course he needed to put a stop to it at once. Sherlock thrust his hips forward, drawing a groan from John. Not nearly enough.

Sherlock decided that grinding against John might work. He started to, and soon John's hands were exploring and their lips were mashed together yet again. And Sherlock's hands were sneaking the hem of John's pants. And, soon, John was shoving Sherlock away and Sherlock was fumbling with the fastening of John's pants. Zipper down, but, oh, wait, he forgot the damn button and – why wouldn't the damn button come undone quick enough!

He shoved them off, but John seemed to not want to be behind at all, as he quickly and smoothly unfastened and shoved Sherlock's off as well. Sherlock growled slightly, pretending to be annoyed that John could do it better than he could, but really not caring at this point.

They couldn't seem to be close enough, pulling at each other to feel every curve and muscle of the other's body. Feeling how hard, hot, and needy the other was though smooth boxers. Not close enough. Sherlock slid his hands past the hem of John's boxers, hands clawing and grabbing at his arse, thrusting forward as he pulled John closer. John gave a small gasp, his eyes gleaming and looking at Sherlock's blue, heavy lidded eyes as he slid his hand down Sherlock's chest, dragging his fingers with slight pressure, getting closer and closer-

They crushed their mouths together, tongues tangling and teeth nipping lips in frantic lust. John forgot his hand, bringing them both up to Sherlock's hair and pulling him in as Sherlock thrust forward. John groaned into Sherlock's mouth, causing the man to shudder and smirk against his mouth, continuing to thrust forward, both being almost impossibly hard. Sherlock backed away slightly, his hand moving from behind John and wrapping around his cock instead, but not breaking off the kiss, deepening it when he felt John shudder with need.

Sherlock's arm flung out, grabbing his tool box and opening it with one hand while the other set a steady pace, forcing groans out of John's mouth. John stopped kissing for a second to look and see what Sherlock was doing just as Sherlock ripped open the condom wrapper and smirked at John, letting go and taking a step back. He gave a dramatic sigh.

"John, I fear that this isn't going to... Well, work." Sherlock looked down, shaking his head.

"What! Why?" John took a step away from the dishwasher and Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped to John's with a mischievous look. He quickly grabbed John by his shoulders and spun him around shoving him back into the dishwasher. He had somehow placed his working towel on the counter, making it softer, but John still gasped as his hands smacked down on the counter to attempt to soften the fall.

Sherlock leaned over John, chest against back, completely pressed up against him, lust-heat radiating, and muttered into his ear "You were facing the wrong way. Unfortunate, really. I'd love to see your face. But I'd much rather fuck you against the dishwasher we've spent so much time with, wouldn't you agree?" John licked his lips and turned his head to kiss Sherlock. It was sloppy and slightly awkward, but neither cared. Sherlock was sliding John's boxers down with his fingers pressing in on his thighs at the perfect spots to make John hiss and have little gasps escape into the kiss. Sherlock slid the condom on as John's boxers hit the floor. John suddenly broke the kiss.

"No, no. You can't do that," John said, twisting his upper body to glare at him. Face to face with Sherlock, "If I'm naked, you're naked. Boxers OFF." Sherlock's eyes shone, loving every minute of this and he was soon nipping John's ear and slipping his own boxers off and grabbing a bottle of lube from his tool box. "You really had that in there?"

John forgot all about laughing as he felt pressure teasing at his rim. It was like he couldn't control himself, like he was under military order, as he faced forward again, his head down, breathing heavy, face and ears flushed when he felt two of Sherlock's fingers, slick with lube, slide into him. He'd never felt anything like it. It was... odd.

But it was Sherlock, with his attention to detail, that made John's mind go blank when he twisted his fingers and curled them right into a spot John didn't know from personal experience could produce that amount of pleasure. He gasped and couldn't stop himself from moaning rather loudly. Sherlock worked his fingers to a rhythm, making John squirm and unable to control his hips, making him groan and shudder. Sherlock pulled them out carefully when he figured the time was right. John let out a whimper and thrust backwards, but Sherlock held him still against the counter and kissed the back of his neck and his shoulders, eventually flattening on John's back to reach his neck, kissing it as his hands massaged at his thighs, close, but not close enough. Teasing, testing John's limits. He breathed select words and teasing phrases into John's ear.

"Yes, you really do seem like a completely straight man, John... How long do you think it would take you to come with me merely massaging your thighs like this? I'm shocked you're still a virgin in this way, considering you. I would have expected you to experiment, at the very least, in the army." John squirmed under Sherlock's hold, trying to get Sherlock's hands closer, grabbing him, and trying to get Sherlock closer. Trying to grind until Sherlock was the one squirming and needing.

He felt quite accomplished when Sherlock growled and thrust forward just a fraction. He groaned slightly, and shook his head.

"Sherlock," he breathed out, causing the tall man to shudder. "Don't be such a pansy." Sherlock stopped moving, but John could feel the smirk on his neck where Sherlock had been kissing. His dark curls tickled John's neck as he pulled away, lining himself up and teasing John's rim with his cock- finally. John's breathing quickened.

"So, I'm a wimp, am I?" Sherlock asked, and then pushed in slowly. John bit back a whimper. Sherlock was moving so slowly that it was actually painful. He suddenly slammed in, causing John to yelp, and then held very still until John's breathing calmed down a bit, the pain fading away to need again.

Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped his long, skinny, skillful fingers around John's cock, nipping at his neck again. John suddenly thrust back, and Sherlock was done teasing. He pulled back slowly and thrust forward, his hand squeezing and pulling while John did his best to keep quiet.

"John, it's no fun if you're going to bite your tongue." Sherlock positioned himself just right and thrust right into the spot his fingers had pushed earlier, causing John to gasp and moan against his control, breathing out Sherlock's name in a half groan. Sherlock quickened his pace and John's knee hit the dishwasher, reminding them how this came to happen and making them both groan.

"You're a ruddy... horrid repair man," John gasped between thrusts, pressure building up in his abdomen. Sherlock bit hard on John's neck, quickening the pace of his hand and John really was making some of the most arousing noises Sherlock had ever heard. He had finally given in to being loud, and he was LOUD. It was fantastic.

"You're... the one who... hired me, Doctor Watson," Sherlock couldn't hold back a loud groan as John flexed and thrust back at the same time, squeezing Sherlock inside of him. It was as if they couldn't get enough friction, as if they couldn't go fast enough, as if they couldn't be close enough, but soon it was all too much, the pressure becoming overwhelming for both of them. Sherlock made sure to hold out until John came, just to feel him clamp down tight, Sherlock's hand working him through his shuddering orgasm. He sped up suddenly when John groaned out his name, and soon he was spilling inside of him, his breathing stopped and his pace irregular and sloppy.

Soon, Sherlock was half slumped on top of John and they were both leaning against the dishwasher and counter to catch their breath. Neither had ever felt so satisfied in their lives.


	7. Chapter 7

Now, it was time for Sherlock to surprise John. He pulled out carefully, making John shudder with the sudden emptiness, and cleaned up. He wet down a cloth with warm water and carefully cleaned John, his hands slipping over John's over sensitive body and sending shudders throughout, weakening his knees even more. John watched in surprised and thanked Sherlock when he handed him his clothes. Sherlock slipped on his own clothes quickly.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand when he was done putting his clothes on, and dragged him into the sitting room onto the couch. He had him get onto the couch, and then wrapped himself around John, nuzzling into his neck.

"Erm... Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Well… you..." Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. "John, you just look so cozy, I'm sorry, I had to."

"Had to... cuddle? The great detective repairman loves cuddling?" John asked in a mocking voice. Sherlock hit John's knee with his own knee and grumbled. John laughed and Sherlock had to fight against smiling. He was upset, damn it! No time to smile. "No, it's... fine." John smiled and actually kissed Sherlock on the head, bringing out a content sigh in Sherlock as he held John closer.

They were there in silence for a good five minutes, listening to each other breathe. It was so comfortable that John was nearly asleep by the time he felt Sherlock stand up. He blinked a few times, willing his haziness away.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Wait here," is all he said as he walked into the kitchen. John had no problem with that, sighing and stretching out a little more. He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until he felt something on his face, caressing. He opened his eyes slightly to see Sherlock sitting on his heels in front of the couch, studying John's face with his eyes and hand tracing his jawline and soon his lips.

"Sherlock, wh..." John slurred out sleepy words, blinking at Sherlock in confusion in his half-asleep state. A smile played at Sherlock's lips.

"I made you tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered rather impatiently, holding the tea out for John to take. John pushed himself up slightly and took the tea, sipping at it. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock began talking first. "You should feel lucky, I don't make tea for just anyone. Actually, this will probably be the only time I make tea for you." John blinked.

"It's good, erm... Thank you." Sherlock smiled. "Didn't you make any for yourself?"

"John, what did you do that got you so distracted?"

"I... What?"

"Your scar. You're clearly not a careless man, very skilled, very quick."

"Sherlock, I was in the middle of a war. I didn't have much of a chance to dodge a bullet."

"It's unlikely that it was anything but carelessness, John. What were you doing?" John was tense and sitting up straight. Sherlock sunk into the space next to him, slipping an arm over and lightly touching where the scar would be under John's clothing, causing John to clench his teeth slightly and sigh. He took a bit gulp of his tea. Sherlock traced the scar. John chugged the rest of his tea in annoyance. "John…"

"I told you, Sherlock," John leaned forward and put his mug down on the table, only to be pulled back by Sherlock.

"John, you've told me what you think I'm willing to accept. What you think I'm stupid enough to believe. However, I don't think you quite realize how adept I am at figuring anything out that I'm very curious about. This, however, isn't extremely apparent. Tell me."

"If you're such a fantastic detective, then figure it out for yourself," John snapped, not breaking eye contact. "On second thought, just drop it all together." Sherlock was still for a second, just studying John. John clenched his jaw, his breathing slightly uneven in anger. Sherlock's expression softened slightly. He opened his mouth- "I said DROP it, Sherlock."

"Was he your only friend there, or just your closest?" John squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep his temper in check. Naturally, Sherlock being Sherlock, he was curious and was bound to ask questions. But John had just told him not to.

"He wasn't shot; he was kidnapped, taken prisoner right in front of your eyes? You had a limp a while back, too, didn't you? How'd you get rid of it? It was psychosomatic, I'm sure your therapist had you doing different things, but that really wasn't enough, was it? No… You had to find something war-like to keep your interest. The danger, the only thing you had left of him. It wasn't romantic, was it? It couldn't have been, if you thought you were straight when you came back. Then again, I suppose it could have been a woman. That much, I don't think I could do much more than guess at."

There was no way Sherlock didn't know what he was doing to John. John's breathing was irregular, he could hear his heartbeat in his temple from the anger seething through him, tensed jaw and closed eyes as he felt Sherlock's hand slip under his jumper to feel the scar.

"So, he got taken away right in front of your eyes- they only wanted one, so they went to shoot you, but you weren't paying any attention because you flung yourself after him, grabbing his leg. He wasn't conscious, was he? And you passed out when you got shot. I can tell you for a fact that they were going to shoot you in the head, thank god they didn't, and I can tell by your face, by the psychology surrounding your limp that you weren't out for long. You saw them kill him."

John's fist collided with Sherlock's chin.


	8. Chapter 8

The punch was actually quite pathetic, but that could have been because Sherlock had dodged it. John pulled his fist back again, but Sherlock grabbed it and held it, studying John's face.

"You're very patient, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not about to be," John snarled, clenching his teeth, his eyes stinging slightly as he felt a non-existent pain in his leg and an ache in his scar.

"Do you need to punch me? Would that make you feel better?" Sherlock asked him this very seriously, watching every single twitch of emotion in John's face.

"Yes, actually, that's what I'd been trying to do," he snapped, his arms tensing up and fist clenching. Sherlock let go of John's fist.

"Go ahead, then." John sat very still, glaring at Sherlock. He stood up and stormed out of the house completely.

Sherlock curled up a little on the couch, just thinking. He knew it was bothering John, why'd he continue? He wanted to see what John's temper was like. He wanted to know that John was different. But, why? He'd done that already. He knew John was different. He'd known that from the start.

He was testing him.

Sherlock was angry with himself, but he figured it would all turn out okay. John would get over it. He needed to come back tomorrow, anyway, and they both knew it, even if John forgot about it in his anger.

He didn't bother taking his tools with him when he left. He didn't even clean up. He just stood up and left, leaving his work jacket and tool box behind.

-

John ended up at his favorite café. He didn't go out often, but this was usually where he ended up when he did go out. The smell of coffee was soothing, not too strong. He plopped down on one of the couch chairs, picking up a newspaper that was on the table in front of him.

After a cup of his favorite tea, he was calm enough to walk very slowly back home, hoping Sherlock had enough sense to leave.

He sighed in annoyance when he saw the mess in the kitchen. Tool box tipped over, dirty dishes still in the sink, and the floor was a complete mess. He cleaned everything up and sat down in the chair in the sitting room. He looked over at the couch and saw Sherlock's work jacket. He stood up, grumbling about how Sherlock just left he stuff around everywhere and how it wasn't like he lived there, he had his own flat, even if he WAS going to get kicked out for not being able to afford it.

But when he picked up the jacket and began folding it over his arm, all he could smell on it was Sherlock. It wasn't the normal, metallic, musky nasty sent that people associated repairmen with that clung to them from working all day. Sherlock was a very clean, very amazing smelling man. John couldn't resist slipping the jacket on, but his ears certainly turned bright red.

All he knew was that he wanted Sherlock out of there before he confused him more. He wanted him to finish up the damn dishwasher without ruining it again, take all his things, and get the hell out of his life so he didn't have to walk around wondering why Sherlock was the only man he'd ever thought about like that.

-

A weekend passed before Sherlock had to go back to work. He had convinced Mrs. Hudson to let him stay longer by telling her he had figured out a way to afford the place. She seemed iffy, but chipper about it nonetheless.

The first thing that happened when he got to work was he got called to his boss's office. He knew it was because of his jacket, and he explained that he must have taken it off while he was working and forgotten it at Jo- Doctor Watson's house.

"It's a damn good thing you're going back today, then."

"Today? His machine broke again?"

"Apparently. Are you even doing your job, Mr. Holmes? I'm thinking maybe we should assign someone more competent to the job."

"I assure you, I'm doing my job. I honestly think he's just breaking it for my attention. And, really, does it matter much? He's the one who keeps calling; he's the one who's paying for it to get fixed." His boss gave him a look, but sent him off. He got a few odd looks from his coworkers as he walked through the building in his work pants and a white tank top, but he ignored them.

He arrived at John's house sometime in the middle of the day. It was past lunch, obviously, but Sherlock wasn't paying much attention to time.

He walked right into the house without knocking and began working on the dishwasher. He had it finished within ten minutes. Confused, he stood up and looked around. No sign of John. His things had been cleaned up and organized, but John wasn't here.

He looked at the floor, the mess he made, and decided he'd clean up. He put the dishes in the dishwasher and managed to make the floor sparkle. Still no sign of John. He hadn't left; his jacket was still here with his wallet in the pocket.

The television remote had a thin layer of dust on it, and the couches looked untouched. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, however. Sherlock walked carefully and quietly through the small place, eventually finding what was obviously John's room. He opened the door quietly.

John was fast asleep. At, what, 3pm? John was still sleeping. He had even called some time to schedule this, yet he was sleeping. Sherlock moved forward carefully, watching John breathe. Was he still angry at him? He wouldn't be surprised. He went much too far.

Sherlock couldn't control the next urge he had. To lie down with John. He lifted up the covers slightly and gasped. John was wearing his work jacket. He was sleeping in his work jacket. Honestly, that couldn't be comfortable. But it was meaningful for John to do something like that. Odd, but it meant something. It meant hope.

Sherlock slipped carefully into John's bed and wrapped his arms around him. John, still asleep, leaned back against Sherlock with a deep breath and a small noise of content. Sherlock smiled into John's neck and closed his eyes.

It didn't take long for John to wake up, but he did it very slowly. He turned around first, burying his head into Sherlock's chest, his hands grabbing his shirt as he inhaled deeply. He gave a happy sigh and didn't really notice what was going on for a few seconds. Sherlock assumed it was because his jacket smelled the same and so John didn't find it abnormal that he could smell Sherlock.

It clicked within the next few seconds, however, that he was holding onto someone whose arms were around him. Long, lanky arms. John blinked open his eyes and looked at Sherlock who looked almost as surprised as John did.

"What… Are you doing in my bed?" John slurred sleepily, thinking and trying to remember if maybe he should actually know this.

Sherlock didn't have an answer.

"Sherlock, get out of my bed," John said, slightly peeved off, but he hadn't let go of Sherlock's shirt yet.

"I... I finished your dishwasher," Sherlock whispered, "and I made sure not to wreck it again."

"Yes, that's good, and all, but you're not listening to me." John let go of Sherlock's shirt and rolled out of bed. Sherlock watched his ears turn bright red when he realized he was still wearing Sherlock's jacket. "Sorry," he took it off. He hadn't been wearing a shirt under it. "It was cold last night."

Sherlock chose not to comment on that.

"You're not still mad, are you?"

"How c- I- You- Sherlock!" John sputtered, annoyed and shaking his head. If Sherlock wasn't so worried that John was angry, he would have chuckled at the absurd expressions and gestures John was making. "How on Earth could you think I'm okay from that?"

"I figured it had been a long enough period of time," Sherlock shrugged, getting out of the bed. John stormed out of the room and Sherlock followed, grabbing his jacket.

"Really," John muttered, rummaging through his almost completely empty fridge.

"What?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the counter. John straightened up with juice in his hand and turned around to glare at Sherlock.

"A long enough period of time."

"Yes. As a man of war, not to mention a doctor, you have to get used to people dying around you." John clenched his teeth again. Sherlock frowned. He was being insensitive again?

"Sherlock, it was about two or three months ago. The only reason they let me go so quickly after my injury was because of the kidnapping. You really expect me to get over…"

"I don't understand why you wouldn't, John."

"We went into that war together, Sherlock. We knew each other before and we went in it with one another. We were moving to another tent, somehow no one had seen the intruders, and he got knocked out. You were right, I jumped for him and got shot, but my men started shooting at them and they panicked and shot him right in the head. Don't ask me why, either! I don't know! And you think I can just get over something like that in a few months?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd known him-"

"You have no place to even be talking about it, Sherlock. If I were you, I'd shut up right now."

There was a moment of silence, Sherlock trying to bite his tongue, but he couldn't hold it in.

"Well, actually... If you were me, you'd be doing exactly what I'm doing right now, John."

John slammed Sherlock into the fridge. It tipped slightly, shaking from the force.

"You're a bloody moron, Sherlock Holmes," and next thing Sherlock knew, John was kissing him. Kissing him? Wait, something was off. What? He was angry, why was he kissing him? It wasn't a nice kiss, either. It was angry, he was biting and their teeth banged together quite a few times- Well, of course Sherlock was kissing back. No one would expect him not to, angry kiss or not.


	9. Chapter 9

John pulled away, his face angry, but something was in his eyes that said danger, which is not something Sherlock runs from easily. Even with this being the case, Sherlock didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to do when John ripped Sherlock's jacket and shirt off. He didn't know what to do when John put the jacket on himself as he undid Sherlock's belt. He stood there like a moron until John bit his neck rather hard, hands in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock growled and pulled John closer by his arse, grinding them together.

John groaned, but shoved Sherlock's hands away and pulled Sherlock's belt off and unbuttoned his pants. Sherlock went to take his jacket off of John, but John slapped his hands away and dropped Sherlock's pants to the floor, pushing him so his back was against the wall. He kissed Sherlock rather violently, his tongue dominating inside Sherlock's mouth and leaving him breathless when he broke it off suddenly. He looked at Sherlock for a second, his eyes glowing with lust, anger, hurt, and... something Sherlock couldn't quite place. His pupils were invading his eyes, only a hint of his beautiful color showing.

Sherlock could have stared at his oddly soft rough features all day, if given the chance. He could have brought John to his flat and forced him to move in – making him sit on Sherlock's favorite chair so he could stare into John's features forever. The way his eyes always looked alert, but how he had dark circles seemingly permanently under his eyes. How was it that he had so many things that most people considered flaws, but he looked so perfect? How was it that this expression of anger he held was even more endearing to Sherlock, as it showed he cared about him enough to be angry? Sherlock could have watched his expressions for days on end.

But now wasn't the time for that.

John had only been looking at Sherlock for a couple of seconds, maybe drinking in Sherlock's features, he hoped. He ducked down. Sherlock was shocked when a groan escaped his own lips when John ran his tongue over his hardened nipple. He felt John tense up and wondered for a second if he did something wrong, but John merely moved to the other one and did the same, squeezing the other with his fingers. Sherlock squirmed, not bothering to hold in his groan. John growled his approval against Sherlock's chest and began moving again.

His hands were on Sherlock's sides. They were on his sides. No one ever touched him like that, they were not allowed. John's hands were on his hips and John's tongue was doing amazing things to him, trailing down his stomach, tracing, and sending lightning through Sherlock's nerves. His hands were on his thighs. His tongue was—His hands squeezed Sherlock's thighs and Sherlock groaned loudly, fighting against his urge to shove John's head down as his tongue traced the top of his thighs.

He was trying to be still. Trying to have control.

But John was dragging the groans out of him like Sherlock was being paid for it. And, frankly, it felt dirty. Dirty and so damn good. John's hands were massaging Sherlock's thighs in just the right spots, in such a way, such a teasing way, that Sherlock nearly felt like he was going to explode. His mouth- it was so close, so damn close- And, God, he was wearing Sherlock's jacket. He refused to take it off. He slept with it on. He most likely entertained himself plenty with this jacket. In ways that made Sherlock groan just thinking about them.

All of these thoughts passed through Sherlock's head – and they all vanished when John let go of his thighs and looked up at him. Sherlock blinked in surprise at the sudden eye contact, his eyes heavily lidded and his breathing uneven. John smirked at h- He SMIRKED at him. He was smirking, his eyes cruel and heated. Sherlock's breath caught. This was a game. John was playing a game with him. Well, he wasn't going to win!

John stopped smirking, glancing down then back up as he lightly flicked out his tongue on the head of Sherlock's cock, making direct eye contact as he did so. Sherlock clenched his teeth and evened his breathing. John parted his lips, looking at Sherlock. His eyes seemed to see right into Sherlock's soul, saw him resisting. John's hand wrapped around Sherlock's cock, pumping it twice. Sherlock's cheeks threatened to turn pink with the effort of holding in a groan and the effort of keeping his hips still.

John's eyes turned wicked and he looked away. He slipped Sherlock into his mouth, purposely groaning around him as he sunk down as far as he could go, a hand massaging his leg again. Sherlock's cheeks turned pink, but he couldn't look away. Not when John's damn beautiful mouth was wrapped around his cock. Not when he was actively trying to get Sherlock to writhe in pleasure. Not when this whole thing was so damn pretty.

Not when John hollowed out his mouth, sucking and pulling back so Sherlock almost slipped all the way out, but then diving forward to where he had been before. He was bobbing and his eyes were closed in pleasure. He was groaning every so often, his hand finding Sherlock's arse and grabbing at it. His face was flushed, his ears were red, and his pajama pants made it apparent that he was really enjoying himself.

And Sherlock was holding everything in. Heat was building up, pressure in his abdomen, and he was holding back gasps, evening out his breathing, but he couldn't stop his body from tensing up. Just one more second and- John stopped very suddenly, not touching Sherlock at all, but looking up at him with a teasing gleam. THIS was the game. Sherlock clenched his teeth, wanting so badly to just shove John's head back down. To shove John on the floor and take him. To come buried inside him _somewhere_.

But John stood up and kissed gently at Sherlock's neck, letting the seconds tick away slowly, the pressure melting away, but the need and lust so much worse.

The second time John went down, Sherlock had to have so much more control. John's hands had found Sherlock's arse before he even started to lower himself. He squeezed, grinding against Sherlock as Sherlock's hands pulled John closer, but he lowered himself, teeth nipping every so often, giving Sherlock shivers, and soon his mouth found Sherlock's cock as he squeezed. He licked down the shaft first, looking up at Sherlock to see any change of expression.

Sherlock prided himself in self-control sometimes. Now was a time he felt the self-praise working through him as he watched John's tongue – the culprit – make him want to groan in such a way that it really should be illegal. John slipped him in his mouth again, looking down to concentrate, and Sherlock couldn't help but find it endearing- then the heat kicked in, the groans hiding in the back of his throat, being pushed down. The urgency in his hips to get faster friction, to thrust forward into John's mouth, down John's throat – Even if he wanted to, that's not something he'd do.

But Sherlock stayed very still, clenching his teeth as the heat built up, hoping that this time John would give in. No such luck. He was so close when John pulled away. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut for a second and opened them to see John standing up again. He looked down at John, frowning.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"Shut up, Sherlock." John's voice was a warning.

"John-"

"I said," John's voice was filled with authority, as if he was commanding Sherlock – as if he was still at war and Sherlock was there for him to deal with. John put a hand on Sherlock's jawline, "Shut up." He traced kisses up Sherlock's jaw and neck, trailing his tongue slightly. He did this until Sherlock felt the heat seep away, and then it was back to the rough, harsh, incredibly, infuriatingly arousing kissing and biting. The grinding and arse grabbing lasted a little longer, and Sherlock almost whined when he felt one of John's hands let go.

John slipped down again and immediately started up again. Sherlock's breathing was heavy and he couldn't control it anymore. It was beyond frustrating. It wasn't any better that John was squeezing Sherlock's arse with that one hand, still. He was pulling and – Wait, what was he doing-

Sherlock felt pressure at his entrance and he nearly gasped. He looked down in shock to see John looking up at him as he bobbed his head with a gleam in his eyes. Sherlock's eyes shut tight at John's generously lubed fingers slipped in. John worked them in and out a few times, twisting and testing Sherlock out. Sherlock's head snapped back and slammed against the wall he was up against when John curled his fingers and hit just the right spot, causing him to feel extremely dizzy.

John quickened the pace in his mouth, sucking and working his tongue, and he hit that spot over and over again until he knew Sherlock was about to come. He pulled out and away quicker than ever, standing several feet from him to let him calm down.

Sherlock's eyes were wild, but he hadn't made a sound. He stared at John, who looked slightly angry still, mostly smug. Sherlock turned his head very slightly. He wanted to shove John down and do the same to him. Show him how it feels. To tease and tease and tease, to be so close so many times, but to never let him come. Then he wanted to fuck John senseless, but still not let him come. Then he would tie him up, yes, and do this over and over until John was begging and nearly sobbing for Sherlock to just let him.

John looked very smug indeed.

And when he went to kiss Sherlock again, Sherlock tried to push him away. John continued, and every touch was like fire. Sherlock didn't do much more than breathe heavily when John went down again, but he couldn't hold back his groan this time when John shoved his fingers in roughly right to the spot, and he was already on the edge when John sucked him into his mouth. It only took a couple of pumps, and Sherlock's body seized up, his mind going hazy, coming in knee shattering pleasure, John working him through it and groaning around him.


	10. Chapter 10

He vaguely noticed John removing his fingers and shoving Sherlock's clothes back in his arms, including his jacket. His mind was numb, hazy, confused. His knees on the floor, his body confused. He began to think and the first thing he saw was John's concerned face. Angry, aroused, but concerned.

"Sherlock? You've been in a bad state for about ten minutes, are you alright? Sherlock?" John shook him slightly, a soothing hand on his face, and Sherlock blinked hazily.

"I love you," is what slipped out of Sherlock's mouth. They were still for a while. John was in shock. Sherlock wasn't completely back to his senses yet. Suddenly, every sense rushed back. His knees hurt, his eyes stung, the back of his head was killing him, and his stomach flipped in embarrassment and dread. Why had he said that! Sherlock stood up very suddenly and jumped away from John, swaying with dizziness, but then shoving his clothes on in a hurry.

"Sherlock, wait, what are you doing?"

"Leaving, obviously."

"Sherlock..."

"Look, John, I understand that you obviously don't want to move into 221B Baker with me, so I'd appreciate it if you'd let me go back to work."

"Sherlock, I-"

"Really, it's QUITE alright," Sherlock spat in slight anger at himself, shoving his jacket on and rushing towards the door.

"SHERLOCK," John sounded livid, but Sherlock didn't stop. He sped up. John caught up and grabbed his arm, but Sherlock shook him off, stopping at the door and turning around.

They stood there for a second, looking at each other.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your friend and I'm sorry that I took it so far." John seemed slightly shocked. "You'll never have the displeasure of seeing my face again, rest assured."

John's anger seemed to get the better of him at this point.

"Fine," he spat, fists clenched. "Go! See if I care. You shoved yourself in here, into my life, completely unwanted, and now, if you wouldn't mind, politely get the fuck out of my house, you arrogant, selfish, confusing…" John clenched his teeth, seemingly unable to continue. Sherlock bit his lips together, looking down, not expecting any different.

"Right," and he was gone.

And the ride home was filled with a dull buzz, the feeling of shock at the end of a fight. This must be what "nothing" feels like. They were nothing to each other. A dull buzz of nothing filling Sherlock's ears. He was nothing to John. When did that matter? When has that EVER mattered?

He clenched his teeth together as he stopped the car in the parking lot of his work building.

When has anyone ever been able to get this close? Why is JOHN so different? What makes HIM so special? Nothing.

Nothing…

Sherlock got out of the van, slamming the door, and stormed inside. His boss was shocked to see him slam the door to his office open.

He didn't even open his mouth. He was through with talking. He shoved a lengthy note into his now former boss's hands. The note included the boss's problems with his wife, information on his daughter's sleeping around, confirming his worrying about his toupee looking stupid, and, finally, stating that Sherlock is leaving for good.

He stormed out before the man even looked down at the note, slamming the door behind him and rushing out to hail down a taxi cab.

The problem was the John DID matter. John wasn't "nothing" to Sherlock. And he certainly wasn't merely a fling. He was the first "something" Sherlock had ever had.

But that was over, and the buzz was filling the taxi cab, looming on Sherlock's face and making the cabbie uneasy.

The only distraction he got was a ding of his phone – a text from the head detective on the case he had been trying to shove his way into. Lestrade.

They were finally asking for his help.

He rushed right over. A very welcomed distraction from his melodramatic mind.

The case was easier than they anticipated, and Sherlock was done by the next afternoon, his mind not on the sleep or food he was lacking, but back on the happenings of the previous day. He dragged himself up the stairs to his flat, one he was sure he'd be kicked out of soon, and attempted a relaxing shower.

Afterwards, Sherlock heaved a sigh and plopped down on the couch. He glanced around the flat from there, taking it all in. This would be gone soon. He might actually have to ask Mycroft for help. John was not even considering it, Sherlock was sure. So much for flatmates. So much for "something;" for someone mattering for once. So much for John.

He rolled over right when he heard the bell go off downstairs. Soon, there were foot steps leading to his flat. He pushed himself up slightly and watched the door. Mrs. Hudson opened it, smiling as usual.

"Oh, you seem to have a guest, Sherlock, dear!" She went downstairs, chuckling to herself. John stood in the doorway, pulling at the sleeve of his jumper nervously.

"Hello." John didn't break eye contact, even though he was fidgeting and his ears were turning red. Sherlock stared for a second in disbelief, and then his eyes gleamed.

"'Hello? Hello- I've been waiting for seven hours, you do realize? I had to skip work, I...'" Sherlock sighed with half a smirk. "'Well, come in, then.'" John smiled and stepped into the flat, closing the door behind him.

AN: I asked a good friend of mine to help me with insults to put in this paragraph, and she suggested the following: "**Fine," he spat, fists clenched. "Go! See if I care. You shoved yourself in here, into my life, completely unwanted, and now, if you wouldn't mind, politely get the fuck out of my house, you arrogant, confusing… lily livered deck swabber!" John clenched his teeth, seemingly unable to continue."**


End file.
